


Running With My Roots Pulled Up

by Princess_Aleera



Series: The Mute!Cas Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cas has had enough of this shit, Cas's feet hurt, Communication Failure, Dean is a dick who means well, Feet wounds, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Leaving Home, M/M, Sam is the best brother in the history of ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Aleera/pseuds/Princess_Aleera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Dean tries to push Cas away 'for his own good', and Cas walks out of their house without shoes on.</p><p>(Takes place 3 months after the conclusion of The Way Home.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for Cas messing his feet up, and them having to fix it at home instead of a hospital.

Dean parks by the library and walks inside, shoulders and neck stiff from lying under a damn car all day. He’s been fixing this piece of shit Lada that quite honestly should’ve been thrown on the dumps _years_ ago. And instead, the old fucker had driven it in, proceeded to stick around to ‘make sure they were doing their job’, and continually insulted Dean’s way of working for six hours straight. If Bobby hadn’t kept almost all of their weapons after they retired, Dean probably would’ve shot the guy. He’s probably a demon anyway. No eighty-year old _human_ is that much of an asshole.

“Cas?” He calls out the minute he walks through the doors, and is promptly met by a loud “Sssh!” from the reception. Library. Right. He peeks around a few corners before he spots him – Cas, sitting on the floor in the middle of the childrens’ books section, giggling soundlessly and and doing that happy-squirm Dean loves so much. Cas, with a small, black-haired girl sitting on his lap, squawking in her own make-believe English and pointing at the picture book Cas is holding. A woman that looks like her mother is sitting in another corner, reading a book of her own, glancing at the two people every few seconds. She’s got a small, fond smile on her face.

Suddenly, Dean wants nothing more than to walk out and leave. Drive those five hours to Stanford and stay on the floor of Sam’s tiny dorm room for a while. Cas looks so at ease with that little girl, pointing and nodding at her as if he can understand her gibberish perfectly. His eyes are crinkling at the corners, and she’s leaning against his chest as if she knows him well. Dean gets an irrational, violent feeling of jealousy and, weirdly enough, loss.

But Cas… Cas looks _good_ like this. Dean’s always known that Cas is good with people, he just never realized that ‘people’ meant ‘kids’. Cas reminds him of Jimmy, now. Like a regular guy, with a kid.

With Dean, he’ll never have that.

“Foo!” the girl says and points at Dean. Cas glances up and grins, and gives Dean a little wave. He tousles the girl’s hair and gets to his feet; she giggles. “Foo!” She says again, and Cas nods seriously.

“Hey there,” Dean says and pastes on a smile. “Who’s your new girlfriend?”

Cas chuckles. _Terra._

“Hey, Terra, I’m Dean,” he says and crouches down, so he’s on her level.

She blinks owlishly at him, clinging to one of Cas’s legs, and gives the ex-angel a suspicious look. Cas’s serene smile seems to calm her, though, and she scrunches her nose at Dean. “ ‘lo.”

The woman is walking up to them now, wearing a scruffy pair of jeans and a blue tank-top. “Hi there,” she says with a pleasant, if not searching, smile. Dean tries not to imagine how she’d be with Cas. “I’m Claire, Terra’s mother.”

“I figured,” Dean says and shakes her hand. “I’m Dean, Cas’s… friend.”

Cas’s smile stiffens just barely, and he tousles Terra’s hair again. He places a hand on Claire’s shoulder and points towards the door.

“Oh, you have to go?” She asks, and he nods. He looks so pleased that she gets it. “Okay, I’ll see you around, Cas. Terra, say bye.”

“No,” Terra says and pouts. She’s still clinging to Cas’s leg. Cas chuckles and pries her tiny hands loose, before lifting her up and placing her in her mother’s arms. Terra squirms and squeals. “Cash!” She whines and looks so hurt Dean almost laughs, even as he feels more and more like a bastard for keeping Cas to himself. Keeping him from ever having… this.

“Terra, don’t be rude,” Claire admonishes lightly. “Now say bye. Cas and his friend has to go.”

“Bye, Cash,” Terra says with a long-suffering sigh, before stretching her arms. Cas hugs her tightly before stepping back, and gives her a little wave. She mirrors the movement exactly, staring intently at her hand while doing so, to make sure it’s perfect. Cas kisses Claire’s cheek before he catches up to Dean.

“Nice to meet you,” Dean says with a nod.

“You too, Dean,” Claire says with a smile.

The two of them walk to the car in silence, Dean’s hands stuffed deep into his pockets. Cas keeps sending him weird glances, but Dean ignores him. They drive home, Dean tapping his fingers impatiently against the wheel, and he walks into the house (their house, their new house) without waiting to see if Cas catches up. Cas does; there’s a hand on his shoulder suddenly, holding Dean back. _What’s wrong?_

“Nothin’.” He shrugs it off and walks inside, flopping down in the couch. He reaches for the remote, but Cas is there again, nimble fingers around his wrist. _Dean._

“No, I don’t – it’s nothing, Cas. I don’t wanna talk about it.” Desperate Housewives, what looks like an old season of American Idol, cooking channel, Discovery – there’s nothing good on here. Fuck.

Cas grabs his jaw, not unkindly, and turns Dean’s head towards him. _What. Is. Wrong._

“Cas…” But Cas won’t let him look away; keeps those too-blue orbs on him, and Dean finds the words tumbling out of his mouth without his say-so. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

Cas frowns. _Why?_

“For… for, I dunno. For everything. For.. keeping you here, for holding you back. I just – I’m sorry.”

Cas’s frown deepens. _What?_

“I just – I saw how you were today, with Terra and Claire. You were – you looked real good, Cas.” Deans stares at the floor, and takes a deep breath. “And if you – if you want that, you just – you go for it. I ain’t stoppin’ you.”

 _What?_ Dean can see Cas’s signing from the corner of his eye.

“I’m just saying I won’t hold you back,” Dean says quietly. Cas cuffs him upside the head. “Ow! What’s that for?”

 _Are you still doing this?_ Cas signs, nostrils flaring.

“I’m not doing anything!” Dean says, voice rising. “I’m just saying that if you want something else –”

 _I want you!_ Cas stands up and Dean stands right up with him. _I chose you!_

“Yeah, well, it’s hardly a choice when you’ve been stuck with me since you fell! Who did you choose between – me and _Sam_?”

Cas reels back as if Dean punched him. _What?_

“Cas, I’m just saying that – you’ve only known me. You’ve only known _this_ ,” Dean hisses and gestures between them. “You’ll never see what it’s like to, I dunno, be with a nice girl! Or – or have a kid! I’m just – I _limit_ you, Cas!”

 _I don’t care!_ Cas signs, and his gestures are so big now it’s as if he’s shouting at Dean.

“No, but you’re _gonna_ care!” Dean yells back.

Cas stands still for a long, hard moment. His face is flushed, his eyes are shiny, and his hands are trembling. He looks as angry as Dean’s ever seen him. _Fine. Want me to meet people? I will._ Then he turns and stalks out of the living room without another sign.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?!” Dean shouts and follows.

 _I’m leaving,_ Cas signs and shrugs on his jacket.

Dean’s blood freezes cold. “You – what?”

 _Leaving,_ Cas repeats, with fingerspelling this time, as if Dean didn’t catch it the first time. _Since you so clearly limit me._

And it’s strange – it’s what Dean’s been saying all along, but seeing Cas say it, it just – punches a hole in his chest. So Dean backs down. “Okay,” he whispers.

Cas turns and slams the front door shut behind him. Dean sinks to the floor. He sits there for almost fifteen minutes, ears ringing with the things he said, before he realizes that Cas’s shoes are still on the floor in front of him.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean and Sam find Cas._

“Cas? Cas?”

Cas is gone. He’s just – gone. Vanished into thin air. Dean’s been at it for an hour now, walking around and searching. None of their neighbors have seen him, none of the people in the nearby shops – no one has seen Cas since he walked out of their house – and possibly Dean’s life – an hour and a half ago.

Without shoes. Dean’s the worst person on the face of this fucking planet.

His hands are shaking when he dials Sam’s number, and he closes his eyes. One beep, two, three.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Sammy. Have, um.” He can hear his voice trembling, so he swallows.

“Have I what?” Sam sounds worried already. “Dean, you sound freaked.”

“Have you gotten a text from Cas today?” Dean says quietly.

“No… why?”

“He’s… he’s missing.” The sun’s high in the sky, so it’s not cold yet, but Cas isn’t wearing shoes and Dean doesn’t know how well Cas remembers this area. He could get lost, he could get hurt or fucking _kidnapped_ – Dean doesn’t even fucking know.

“ _What_?! How did that happen?”

Bile’s rising in Dean’s throat, and he swallows convulsively a couple of times. “There was a fight, and we – I said some stuff I didn’t mean, and he just – he left. And now I can’t find him.”

“Goddammit, Dean,” Sam sighs on the other end of the line. “Have you tried calling him?”

“He left his phone at home,” Dean grits out. “Along with his notebook and – Sam, I don’t think he’s even got shoes on.”

“Fuck,” Sam says. “Okay, okay. I’m in my room now – I can leave in ten minutes. But Dean,the earliest I can get to you is in four and a half hour.”

“I know,” Dean says quietly. “I just – I hope I find him before you get here.” He doesn’t say _but if not, I’m gonna need you_ , but Sam hears it anyway.

“Just fucking find him, Dean,” Sam bites out and hangs up.

Dean puts his phone down and walks to the nearest shop to ask if they’ve seen a barefoot, dark-haired guy in a slightly-too-big trenchcoat. No one has.

~*~

Dean meets Sam at the bus stop at eight to ten, and his brother only needs to take one look at Dean to see that Cas hasn’t been found. “What the _fuck_ did you say to him?” he growls, but Dean can hear a hint of the same desperation that thrums within him as well.

“Lots of stupid, stupid shit. It’s not important.” They get in the car and start driving around the town, even if Dean’s circled the entire fucking valley twice already.

“Well, clearly it’s important if it made him _leave_.”

“I fucking _know_ that, okay?!” Dean shouts a lot louder than he means, and flinches at the ragged sound of his own voice.

Sam stares at him, and sighs. “We’ll find him, Dean.”

Dean just nods and grits his teeth. Cas has been missing for seven hours and the sun’s gone down. It’s ten in the evening, it’s getting chilly outside, and it’s dark. It’s fucking dark and Dean can’t believe he’s never checked how good Cas’s night vision is now that he’s human. What if he can’t see anything at all? What if he falls? What if –

“Dude, eyes on the road,” Sam says quietly.

“Fuck you, Sam,” Dean says without heat, hands trembling just barely. If Cas gets hurt or attacked, he can’t call for help. He could be lying out here right now, in some ditch, trying to scream. Or he could be at Claire’s, starting a new and better life. Both suggestions scare Dean to the very core of his being.

They drive around for hours. At one point they leave the Impala and trudge through the narrower streets of the little town by foot, making sure Cas isn’t hiding (or beaten, or killed) in a backstreet somewhere. Cas is nowhere to be found. By the time it’s three in the morning, Dean is exhausted and pretty much on the verge of crying.

“We need to… Dean, we gotta go home, man,” Sam says quietly. “I mean, he could be there, right? Maybe he’s home. Maybe he’s fine.”

“Yeah.” But Dean knows that Cas isn’t fine, because they’re never fine – ‘fine’ doesn’t happen. He knew he’d fuck this up eventually, and now – now Cas is gone. He could –

God, Cas could be dead.

There are two defeated Winchesters who trudge home tonight, who park the Impala outside that treacherous white picket fence, who step into the darkened hallway. Dean turns on the hallway lights and shrugs off his jacket, but freezes halfway into the motion.

There’s blood on the floor. Dirt and blood, in something that looks like footprint patterns, leading into the house.

“Dean,” Sam says quietly.

“Yeah, I see it.” Dean’s throat is tight, there’s desperate pounding behind his forehead, and he can smell rust in the air. He runs through the small house and rips open the bathroom door, and – “ _Cas_.”

His angel’s curled up on the cold tile floor, shivering. Cas’s hair is plastered against his head, his trenchcoat’s a dirty mess in the bathtub, and his foot soles are bloody and torn. He lifts his head when Dean enters, those bright, cerulean eyes of his dimmed and hazy with pain and exhaustion. He lifts a trembling hand. _I’m sorry._

“Fuck, no, no no no,” Dean mumbles and slips a hand under Cas’s back, lifts him up and pulls him into a careful embrace. “Shit, I’m so fucking sorry, Cas,” he whispers as he feels Cas cling feebly to him.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Sam says quietly from the doorway, relief and worry pouring out of him in waves, and then the two of them are alone. Cas lets out a sob against Dean's jacket, and he keeps signing with one hand that he’s sorry. Dean feels tears sting in his own eyes – he hasn’t seen Cas this broken since the first month after he fell. And it’s Dean’s fault. Again.

“I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it, Cas,” Dean mumbles and keeps a hand on Cas’s neck. He’s so _cold_ , jesus. “I just – so stupid, Cas, I’m so fucking stupid. I’m sorry.”

Cas doesn’t stop crying, he just – he keeps sobbing, keeps clinging to Dean, and Dean just holds him harder.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers, again and again. He can feel wetness on his cheeks. Cas hitches a shaky breath, and Dean leans back so he can see Cas’s puffy face. Cas’s eyes are still welling over, and Dean wipes away the tears carefully. “Please don’t leave, Cas,” Dean chokes out.

Cas shakes his head. _I won’t_ , he mouths, and they don’t as much kiss as they just press their faces together and stay that way for a long time.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean cleans Cas’s wounds._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic wound tending and pain.

Cas is breathing shakily against Dean’s throat, and Dean’s still rocking them both back and forth. Carefully, so he doesn’t hurt Cas’s feet more than they’re already messed up, but he can feel that it’s calming Cas down. “Cas,” he murmurs after what feels like forever. “Cas, we need to warm you up. And I gotta clean your wounds. Are you hurt anywhere other than your feet?”

Cas shakes his head, fingers still gripping Dean’s shirt collar tightly. “Okay?” Dean whispers, and Cas nods. “Okay. Just – just lie here for a sec, okay? I need to fill the bathtub.” He grabs Cas’s ice-cold fingers and squeezes them in something he hopes Cas perceives as reassurance, and eases back. Cas curls in on himself again on the floor, like a small and wounded animal, and it’s all Dean can do not to sit right back down. But he needs to get Cas warm. He’ll get sick from this; if he isn’t already.

Dean undresses Cas while the tub’s filling; Cas’s limbs are heavy and cold and uncooperative, his eyes still red and dimmed. When the tub’s filled and Dean’s double-checked that the temperature’s okay – not too hot, don’t want to scald Cas’s skin – he lifts his angel from the floor and guides him down into the warm water. It sloshes and spills onto the tiles, but it doesn’t matter. Dean has to clean away the bloody footprints later anyway.

“Too hot?” Dean asks quietly when Cas hisses and winces, but the ex-angel shakes his head. He swallows and opens his eyes, keeping them on Dean as he leans back until only his head and knees are above the waterline. Dean can see that he’s trying hard to relax; to not stay tense and curled up.

“I have to clean your feet, Cas,” Dean murmurs, knowing already from having cast a glance at them earlier. “And it’s gonna hurt.”

Cas nods and shudders out a breath. He closes his eyes again, and just waits while Dean gets the first aid kit. Tweezers, anti-septic cream for later, needle and thread, bandages and a nail brush. He hopes it won’t be necessary to use the last one, but when he lifts one of Cas’s feet out of the hot water and inspects it, he realizes that he’ll have to. There’s too much dirt and tiny pieces of gravel – unless Dean makes sure he gets all of it out, Cas’s feet will become infected. That’s bad enough if he were a regular human being – with Cas, who knows what kind of immune system he’s got? Dean can’t take any chances.

“Cas,” Dean says and waits for the angel’s eyes to lock with his again. “I have to use a brush to get this out – now, we can go to a hospital, if you’d rather do that.” But Cas is shaking his head and he’s starting to get panicked again, so Dean takes his hand. “Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. Wait – I’ll give you something for the pain.” He finds some Aspirin – if they’d still be out on the road, he’d have Cas chug them down with some whisky, but there’s no alcohol in the house, so they’ll just have to do with these. Cas swallows the pills down, and at least his cheeks are reddening from the hot water, and he doesn’t seem quite so shaky anymore. Dean knows they’ll have to talk about this – he’s done too much damage here to be able to fix it with only some bandages and ‘sorry’s – but right now, he’s got other priorities.

He gives Cas his dirty t-shirt. “Hold this,” he says. “Squeeze it, bite on it, if you want to – this is gonna hurt like a bitch, Cas.” Cas looks afraid, and Dean leans over to give him a kiss – a semblance of comfort, he hopes – before he finds one of Cas’s feet and grabs the nail brush.

Six years ago, during a run-of-the-mill ghost case up in Minnesota, their poltergeist found out about halfway through the usual routine (meaning choking Sammy and throwing Dean into random walls) that it wanted to do something different with its last three minutes. So it had grabbed Dean by the collar of his leather jacket and dragged him along the nearby road for fifty metres instead. Sammy had smoked the bastard, naturally, but not before Dean’s palms and knees were scraped raw of anything resembling skin. Sam had shown him a way to get rid of the dirt, and today, Dean doesn’t even have scars. (Mostly because Cas brought him back good as new three years ago, but still.)

Dean’s hoped he’d never have to use that particular knowledge, but here he is, taking a deep breath and gripping Cas’s left ankle so tightly Cas winces. “I’m sorry, Cas.” Then he brings the small, stiff brush hard across Cas’s torn foot sole.

Cas screams for the first two minutes. There’s no sound, just choked gurgling and frantic splashing of water as Cas tries to get away from Dean, from the brush, from the pain. Dean doesn’t let him go. He can’t even look at Cas – remembers the pain from six years ago too well to see it written across Cas’s face. Cas gags and gasps and fights him, but Dean’s too strong and Cas already too exhausted.

When Dean starts on the other foot sole, Cas faints. He goes limp, eyes rolling back in his skull, and Dean blinks through his own burning tears and works faster, grateful that Cas isn’t conscious anymore. At least he can’t feel the pain like this. The water’s a smudged color of greyish red by now, and Cas’s head lolls gently against the rim of the tub. Dean finishes up, puts down the nail brush, and promptly gags. He retches into the toilet, and smells rust and burning flesh. There’s screaming inside his head – he thinks it's his own voice. Taking a deep breath and flushing, Dean gets up and splashes his face a couple of times before he goes back to the work on hand.

Draining the dirty water, Dean stumbles on shaky legs over to the bedroom to find some spare towels. He balances them on the edge of the sink and grabs the shower head, carefully rinses Cas, who’s still out cold, and wipes off the bathroom floor with some paper before laying the towels out. He gets Cas out of the bath tub, his body lax and too pale, too light, and dries him on the bathroom floor before smearing anti-septic cream along both soles. He sews the worst tears shut and bandages both of Cas’s feet, keeping his movements as quick and clinical as he can. Cas floats back to consciousness while Dean’s carrying him into their bedroom, breath sharp and uneven.

“I’m so sorry I had to do that, Cas,” Dean whispers and places him gently on the bed. “It’s over now. Okay? No more pain.”

Cas shifts and winces, eyes still shiny and puffy, before reaching out to him. Dean kisses the palm, the fingers, the back of Cas’s hand, before pulling away to get out of his own clothes. As soon as he’s undressed, he walks around to get into the bed from the other side. “Do you,” he says quietly, and Cas just nods fervently, so he creeps as close to Cas as he can. “Okay, okay. Sshhh, we’re done now. ‘S okay.” Cas is plastered against him, just as close as Dean needs him to be right now, and he cards his hand through Cas’s wet curls and waits for the painkillers to whisk Cas off to sleep.

One shaking hand comes into his view, and Cas signs _I_ before Dean curls his hand around Cas’s fingers. “Cas, I – I said a lot of shit tonight, and this – I know this isn’t done. We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise. But right now, you need to get some rest. Can you do that for me?”

Cas is half-tense against him for a few seconds, before he relaxes and nods. He tucks his head under Dean’s chin and rests on Dean’s chest. He doesn’t even have the energy to flinch when Dean’s hand comes to rest against his naked back, just lets out a shuddery breath.

“Cas?” Dean whispers into the silence, staring at their white ceiling, and Cas squeezes Dean’s hand lightly to let him know he’s listening. Dean takes a deep breath. “I love you.” Cas grows painfully still against him, and Dean closes his eyes. “Just… so you know.”

A moment, two, and then Cas nods and Dean can feel the beginning of a smile against his collarbone. His free hand worms out from under the sheets, and Dean blinks his eyes open. Cas’s hand is closed in a fist, his thumb, pinky and index finger stretched. Dean knows what that means – it’s one of the first things he learned in ASL, even if it’s the first time Cas has ever signed it.

_I love you too._

Dean holds Cas just a little tighter, and presses his eyes shut as he smells Cas’s hair. There’s no coconut smell, but there’s Cas, and – they can fix this. _Dean_ can fix this. He has to. Because Cas… Cas loves him.

It’s not nearly as scary as he thought it would be to know.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If some of you think I chose this particular method of wound-cleansing just to bring on the maximum amount of pain, I wouldn’t hold it against you. But this is a very effective, if also very painful, method of cleaning a shallow wound in which there’s a lot of gravel, etc. lodged in the flesh. I have it on **very** good authority that they used this method in hospitals some years ago, and even if that probably wouldn’t have happened if Dean and Cas went to a hospital now, that’s the best they could do in this situation. If you want the visual, [here’s](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DfpIaW5vDAs/TZvFM1DnIsI/AAAAAAAAAAk/DvfJDLVoAlE/s320/wooden_nail-brush_main.jpg) the kind of brush Dean used.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where they talk._

Dean slips out of bed in the early hours of morning to retrieve his cellphone from the back of his discarded jeans. He climbs back in without waking Cas, who only frowns in his sleep and burrows closer when he recognizes Dean’s warmth. Dean slips an arm around Cas’s shoulders and texts with his other hand.

_Tammi, can’t make it to work today. Family emergency. Forgive me?_

He gets a reply within ten minutes, even if it’s only six am. _R u & Cas OK?_

 _Yeah,_ he writes back. _Just need to fix some stuff._

This time, his phone beeps quietly after just a minute. _Got it. I’ll bully Brandon into takin ur stuff. U owe him lunch. Tell sugarplum hi._

Dean smiles. _Will do. Thanks, Tammi._

With that done, he can lie back down and curl around Cas’s soft, sleeping form again. Cas sighs softly and noses his ear, and Dean kisses his cheek before he closes his eyes. It takes him an hour to fall back asleep, and he uses every one of those sixty minutes listening to Cas’s calm breathing.

It’s ten am when his phone beeps again. Dean blinks his eyes open and grabs it from its resting place on the bedside table, feeling Cas shift against him with a bit more intent. He’s waking up. And the text is from Sam. _I’m coming over later to yell at you. When are you free?_

Dean sighs deeply. _Gotta talk to Cas first._

 _Two o’clock,_ Sam texts back, and even his texts sound snippy.

 _Fine._ Cas shifts, stretches, and winces. Dean puts away the phone and looks over to find Cas’s feverish eyes on him. “Hey, Cas. You in pain?”

Cas nods and swallows.

“Be right back.” He presses a chaste kiss to Cas’s brow and heads into the bathroom to find the painkillers. He brings them back along with a glass of tepid water, and Cas swallows them down so quickly he chokes on the water and starts coughing. Dean pats his on the neck while he coughs, careful not to touch the scars – this morning’s going to be hard enough as it is. Cas sits up in the bed, shoving himself upright by his arms so he won’t have to plant his feet against the mattress, and Dean helps him get comfortable. Then he crawls onto the bed and settles against the headboard, above the covers.

He sighs and looks over at his angel. “So… we should talk.”

Cas swallows and nods just barely. Then he signs _me?_

“No, that’s – no, I’ll start.” Dean closes his eyes because it’s supposed to be easier when you can’t see the other person, which is bullshit because he can still sense Cas’s eyes on him. “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. Or, well, I meant _some_ of it, but not – like that.” In the end he has to open his eyes anyway; has to see Cas’s face. “Just – seeing you with that girl, Terra… You looked real good, Cas. And it just hit me out of the blue that, that this,” and he gestures vaguely between the two of them, “means you won’t ever have… _that_.”

Cas frowns, but he doesn’t look angry like yesterday. Instead he tries to sign in full sentences, and Dean tries to get as much as he can from it. _Terra doesn’t need me. She has a mother and father._

“Yeah, well – that’s good. For Terra, I mean. But that’s not what I mean; I’m talking about kids in general, Cas. And not just that – it’s everything. I mean, we’ve got ourselves a house now. But that’s about as far into ‘normal’ as we’ll ever get, Cas. We aren’t of the norm, to put it that way. And what if you want that someday? A normal life with a normal family, like… like Jimmy had.” Cas flinches, and Dean fixes his stare on Cas’s cheek so he doesn’t have to look into his eyes. There’s a fine line of stubble there. “A wife, a kid or two, getting married. Stuff like that won’t happen with me – most of it won’t happen if you end up with another dude at all, but. Y’know.” He shrugs and grimaces. “Did that make sense at all?”

Cas shakes his head, but there’s a small, sad smile playing on his lips. _Notebook?_ he signs.

“Yeah, of course.” Dean gets it from the living room table, and Cas writes. It’s still less time-consuming for him to write when he has to explain something thoroughly, Dean knows; that, and he gets more time to collect his thoughts.

 _I’m happy with what we have here, Dean,_ Cas writes. _I don’t want to be ‘normal’ – I can never be normal, not completely. I used to be an angel. I know so many things most humans don’t – and aren’t supposed to – know. I know homosexual relationships are not of the norm either, but I love you and that is not going to change._

Dean smiles, ignoring the uncomfortable churn in his stomach that’s too much alike fear, and slips closer. “I know… I know you do, Cas. And I… y’know. I do too. But even if you’re happy now, what’s to say that you won’t want something else in the future?”

 _We can’t predict that, so why worry?_ Cas writes, but when he sees that Dean’s frown isn’t gone, he sighs and kisses him before continuing. _However, I don’t believe I will change. I have known and loved you for almost four years, Dean. I have seen you at your absolute worst. There is nothing about you that would be enough to drive me away._

Dean closes his eyes and shifts closer, until he’s leaning his head on Cas’s shoulder. It’s a weird shift in their dynamic, and with those fucking feet, Cas should definitely be the comforted one right now, but Cas strokes a gentle hand through Dean’s hair and down his neck, and it’s just… really nice to hear – see – what Cas thinks of all this. Dean can feel the tension bleeding out of him. “Four years?” he asks after a while. “You’ve only been human for four months.”

Cas writes again, his free hand staying on Dean’s neck, and Dean opens his eyes so he can read. _I loved you from the moment I found you in Hell. It is only after I became human that I fully realized the extent of my own feelings._ He smiles a little, looking thoughtful, and Dean catches his hand.

“Then… then I guess you’ve got me, for as long as you want me,” he murmurs and takes Cas’s pen. He writes as clearly as he can, considering he’s using his left hand. His right one’s around Cas’s shoulders and neck, and he’s not about to move it. _I love you, Castiel Winchester._

Cas’s small smile blossoms into a full-fledged one, a bright and joyful grin as he pulls Dean close. Dean lets himself be pulled until he’s got Cas’s pillow and hair smothering him, but just curls his arms around Cas and tries to inhale what little oxygen there is from the pillow.

They stay like that until Dean has to breathe, and even then, he just goes back to leaning his head against Cas’s shoulder. Cas leans his head on his, and they watch their intertwined fingers in silence for a while.

“You want some breakfast?” Dean murmurs. “I’ll carry you into the living room.”

Cas’s fingers disentangle from his so he can sign freely. _You don’t have to._

“No, I want to. I can make breakfast too.” Dean kisses Cas’s temple. “Besides, I really wanna eat before Sammy kills me.”

Cas turns and stares at him.

“He’s _really_ pissed off,” Dean sighs.

 _Why?_ Cas’s mouth turns up in the corners.

“Well, ‘cause I hurt you,” Dean says quietly.

Cas’s eyes grow fond, and he squeezes Dean’s neck lightly. They rest their foreheads together, and Dean’s eyes flicker between Cas’s eyes and his hand. _Sam is very protective._

Dean chuckles. “That’s one way of puttin’ it. Do you think he won’t kick my ass if I hide behind you?”

Cas giggles soundlessly, and fuck, it’s good to see him like this again. Carefree and mellow and happy, like he’s supposed to be. Dean finds himself grinning back at him, even if he knows he looks like a doofus. _I’ll protect you._

“Thanks, Cas.”

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean makes pancakes and Cas unconsciously derails an argument._

Dean’s spent the last twenty minutes making pancakes in the kitchen, singing to himself while Cas has been watching TV. The angel’s stretched out on their couch, resting the back of his ankles against the armrest so his feet are in the air. Dean put the pillows from their bed behind Cas’s head so he’s propped up, peering at the TV from between his own bandaged feet. Cas looks perfectly comfortable where he lies, and Dean keeps glancing over every few minutes to make sure he’s doing okay. He keeps singing softly to himself as he cooks, though; knows that Cas is listening intently to his voice.

He makes a stack of eight pancakes, even if he knows that Cas will only eat two, maximum two and a half. Dean will eat maybe three, but he’s hoping that providing Sam with food might earn him a few points in the ‘don’t throttle Dean’ category. He shuffles them onto a big plate and brings it into the living room, before sitting down in the chair on the opposite side of the table. Cas tries to sit up, but winces and sucks in a sharp breath when his feet brush the carpet.

“Hey, don’t –” Dean’s there in a second, picking up one of the pillows from the couch. He places it on the table, next to the plates, and slips his hand underneath the back of Cas’s knees. “Here, let’s try this way,” he murmurs and places Cas’s feet carefully on the pillow. Cas winces, but only barely, and then he leans back against the couch with a soft sigh. “That better?”

Cas nods and smiles. Dean hands him a pancake plate before he sits back down in the chair, but Cas frowns a little and signs _over there?_

“Over huh, Cas?” Dean asks.

Cas points at him, then pats the couch tentatively.

“Oh, right! It was just – you were lying down,” Dean explains and moves to the couch, settling firmly against Cas’s side. “That better?”

Cas grins and nods, leaning back in the couch. He rests his plate on his outstretched legs, munching thoughtfully on his pancake. Dean notices a fine trail of crumbs and sugar on his lips, and before he can think rationally about it, he’s leaned over and licked it off. Cas makes a surprised, choked noise and widens his eyes, and Dean pulls back with the same expression.

“Um, sorry, that was –” but Cas shakes his head and grins. He slips a hand around Dean’s neck and tilts his head, so their lips fit perfectly together. This time, Dean gets to lick the pancake taste out of Cas’s mouth, and Cas happily reciprocates. Cas is _good_ at kissing, all pure abandon and honest curiousity, and each of their make-out sessions have an air of exploration over them. Cas pulls back after a minute or so (Dean kind of lost count somewhere around the moment Cas started biting lightly at his upper lip) to breathe, and presses his cheek softly against Dean’s. Then he goes back to eating, easy as nothing else.

Dean can’t help but grin a little to himself, as he turns to the TV and takes another bite of his breakfast.

They eat together, slowly, while Dean watches the cheap Walmart clock on the wall out of the corner of his eye. He can’t help but feel a little jittery, and Cas seems to pick up on it, from the way he keeps sending reassuring glances in Dean’s direction. When they’re both done (Cas managed two pancakes, Dean three), Cas swings his feet over the couch armrest with care, and lies back down. He rests his head in Dean’s lap, and Dean’s fingers find Cas’s hair of their own volition.

“You’re like a dog,” Dean murmurs with a slight smile, and Cas blinks up at him. “You’re all good ‘s long as you’ve got someone to pet you.”

 _Not someone_ , Cas signs. The smile on his face is patient, serene. _Mostly you._

It makes Dean feel all warm and awesome inside, but he jokes it off. It’s easier. “ What do you mean, ‘mostly’?”

 _Sam gives good hugs,_ Cas signs cheekily and Dean chuckles. Though he is right – with those fucking huge arms and that goofy smile, Sam gives the best hugs. Well, next best – after Cas. Though Dean realizes he’s not exactly an impartial judge at this point.

There’s a nature show about turtles on, and Dean’s not really that interested (though man, those turtle babies walk for a _long_ time before they get into the water), but he doesn’t feel like moving to get the remote. Cas, who follows the show with bright interest at first, lets the painkillers and food take effect and eventually dozes off. Dean massages his scalp with his thumbs, because Cas loves that and Dean knows his feet still hurt, and watches the grown turtle mothers return to the same beach as they crawled away from a few years (fucking _years_ , man) earlier, to lay new eggs. Cas’s mouth is slightly open, jaw relaxed just like the rest of his face and body, and Dean can see from the slight fluttering of his eyelashes that he’s asleep and dreaming. He grins down at his boyfriend.

Boyfriend?

… Boyfriend.

Dean takes a deep breath and brushes a stray hair away from Cas’s forehead. It’s getting long – they should cut it soon. If Cas wants. Dean’s not sure if Cas can pull off the long-haired look, but if Cas wanna give that a try, he won’t bitch. Much.

Their front door unlocks and opens, and Dean quashes a tiny, irrational smidge of fear. He knows it’s Sam, because only Sam has another key – and only Sam barges into his brother’s house without even knocking. Seriously, what if he and Cas were fucking right now?

And just the thought of that makes Dean want to die a little with embarrassment, so he shoves the image of Sam catching them in the act _far_ , far from his mind. Instead he sits very still, looking at the doorway when Sam enters.

“D –” But that’s as far Sam gets before he notices Cas sleeping, and freezes. His face, already stormy, morphs into a bitchface.

“You probably shouldn’t yell,” Dean whispers, thrilled at this opportunity. “Cas is asleep. Wouldn’t wanna wake him, y’know?”

“You’re such a fucking coward,” Sam says, but he’s whispering too, so Dean counts it as a win. Sam sits down in the arm chair, quietly. Cas shifts and one of his bandaged feet twitches. Dean resumes his scalp massage, mostly to keep Cas asleep. He is under no illusion that Sam won’t chew him out anyway – he’ll just do it quieter. And hopefully with less physical damage.

“Dean, what the hell happened here yesterday?” Sam murmurs.

Dean sighs. “Me and Cas talked it out, Sam. It’s okay.”

“He _walked out_ of here, Dean,” Sam hisses. “Look at his feet!” It’s barely above a whisper, but the words still hurt.

“I know,” Dean snaps back, not quite looking at his brother. “It was stupid – _I_ was stupid. We got shit resolved, it’s… it’s okay, Sam.”

Sam doesn’t look pleased by this answer; not at all. He’s still staring at Dean like all he wants to do is to punch him in the face – which, contrary to common belief, is not that common a look to have directed at Dean. Not from Sam, anyway.

“Look,” Dean whispers. “I screwed up, okay? I know, Cas knows, you know. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“But, Dean – with _what_?” Sam fumes. “I mean, you’ve screwed up before, no offense, but Cas has never _left_ before.” Sam is surprisingly good at shouting in a whispering volume.

And, Dean thinks, he’s also partly wrong. This isn’t the first time Cas has started leaving. “I just…” He sighs. “Please, Sam. It’s none of your business. It’s… fixed. Okay?” Cas shifts again, letting out a soft sigh and curling over to his side a little. His feet are still dangling over the couch edge, but now he’s almost on his side and his face is pressed against Dean’s t-shirt. His forearms and hands are squished between Dean’s stomach and Cas’s face, which is a good thing because that also means Cas isn’t actually lying on Dean’s crotch. Cas frowns in his sleep and flinches, just barely. But it’s enough that Dean notices, and he puts a hand on his angel’s neck. He ruffles the hair at the nape gently, and Cas’s forehead smoothes out. He lets out a soft snuffling sound and goes slack.

Dean glances up to see Sam look at the two of them, facial expression warring between fond and his old righteous anger on Cas’s behalf.

“We’re okay, Sam,” Dean murmurs one more time and smooths the pad of his thumb across Cas’s neck. He can feel the relaxed tendons there, just beneath the skin. Cas’s hand has curled around the bottom part of his t-shirt at some point, and he’s now clutching it tightly. “We’re working on it.”

“It does look like it,” Sam says quietly, and Dean can hear the anger bleeding out of his voice. “Were the wounds bad?”

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs and swallows. “Pretty bad. Had to use a nail brush in the end.”

“Shit, that’s what I was afraid of,” Sam sighs. “How’d he take it?”

“Like a champ,” Dean says and gives his sleeping angel a sad smile. “Got through a whole foot before he blacked out.”

“Wow,” Sam whispers, and Dean nods in agreement. They sit in silence for a while, watching Cas sleep, looking at a new documentary on the TV-screen. It’s about lions, but Dean’s not paying attention. Cas is curled up with him, Sam’s not gonna kill him, and they’re all just pretty much okay. It’s good. It’s all good.

“If you want the last pancakes, they’re yours,” Dean says and nods at the three remaining, cold pancakes on the table. “Heat’em up in the oven for a couple of minutes and they should be good to go.”

“Thanks, that’d be great,” Sam says and takes the tray back into the kitchen. Dean strokes a hand across his angel’s cheek, and Cas’s eyelashes flutter. He doesn’t wake up. Dean doesn’t stop watching him.

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Sam cleans Cas’s wounds and Dean knows stuff about turtles._

By the time Sam’s halfway through his third and last pancake, Cas lets out a deep sigh and shifts against Dean. He blinks his eyes open, and it’s amusing to Dean that even after four months of sleeping, Cas still looks just as confused that first moment he opens his eyes. He squints at Dean, before yawning widely. Dean chuckles. “Welcome back, Cas. Sam’s here.”

Cas turns his head and notices Sam in the chair; waves his hand at him.

Sam grins. “Hey, Cas. You feeling okay?”

Cas nods and starts to sit up. He winces when he flexes his feet, though, and Dean helps him up in a better position where Cas can lean his back against Dean’s side. “I think we gotta change those bandages, Cas,” he says quietly. “Don’t want them to stay on for too long. Okay?”

Cas nods and bites his lip, looking somewhat dubious.

“I’ll go get the fresh bandages,” Sam says and gets up. They hear him rummage through their medical cabinet, before he returns with the bandage roll and a pair of small scissors. Dean starts to get up, but Sam says “no, no, stay there.”

“You wanna do it?” Dean says.

“Uh, sure? I mean, if you’re comfortable with that,” Sam says to Cas. “I don’t mind. Dean looks so comfortable, all curled up next to you.” He grins.

Dean gives him the finger, but Cas beams. Then he lies down, his head once again in Dean’s lap. _I trust you,_ he signs at Sam and wiggles his toes carefully, the only parts of his feet visible around the gauze.

Sam goes to work immediately, unwrapping the rolls of bandages as carefully as he can, while Dean cards his hand through Cas’s hair to distract him from the pain. As the gauze disappears, Cas’s face scrunches up, and his breath starts becoming labored. “You’re doing good,” Dean murmurs, his eyes following every shift on Sam’s face.

Sam blinks when the final bandages are off, and Dean can read on his face that it looks worse than Sam thought it would. “You did a good job,” his brother mumbles, inspecting the soles Cas’s feet thoroughly. “It’s already closing up.”

Dean nods and doesn’t say anything, and when Sam touches Cas’s heel, Cas flinches and lets out a small, sharp gasp. Dean shushes him and, when Cas stretches out a hand for Dean to grab, does what he’s silently told. He wraps his own hand around Cas’s smaller one, and rubs his thumb over Cas’s pulse point in a way he hopes is soothing.

“I think I’m gonna put on some more cream, just in case,” Sam says and goes back into the bathroom, emerging less than a minute with the same bottle Dean used last night. When he starts rubbing the cream across Cas’s soles, Cas flinches again, and lets out a punch of breath Dean’s certain would once have been a groan of pain.

“You know, I just watched this documentary about salt water turtles,” Dean says, just a little louder than strictly necessary, and Cas’s gaze flicks up to his. “Yeah, no kidding. Pretty awesome little animals, too – did you know that turtles evolved during the Mesozoic era and survived the dinosaurs? That’s pretty hardcore.”

Sam sends him a grateful look before he keeps working, and Cas forces himself to keep his eyes and attention on Dean. Dean keeps talking about fucking turtles, of all things, while Sam re-bandages Cas’s feet, and only a single stray tear slips down Cas’s cheek during the process. Dean wipes off with his thumb and doesn’t say anything about it. “All done,” he smiles when Sam gets to his feet again, and Cas sighs in relief and relaxes.

 _Thank you,_ he signs to Sam, who ducks his head.

“Sorry I couldn’t do it without causing you pain,” he says, but Cas only shakes his head and waves his hand a little. He smiles, and Sam smiles back.

“Aww, look at you two,” Dean croons. “Bonding ‘n all. So adorable.”

“Says the guy who’s been petting him for two hours straight,” Sam says, completely without heat, and slumps down into his chair.

“That’s different,” Dean says.

Cas pets Dean’s leg in a slightly condescending manner, and Dean shoves at him. Sam giggles, the fucking girl.

~*~


End file.
